Murals of Winter
by Madin456
Summary: After all, she is a girl locked in a tower with hair more than twice the length of her room. Why wouldn't there be a boy who wears winter on his sleeves and stirs up snowstorms in her heart? — Jackunzel.


**Summary:** After all, she is a girl locked in a tower with hair more than twice the length of her room. Why wouldn't there be a boy who wears winter on his sleeves and stirs up snowstorms in her heart? — Jackunzel.

**A/N:** Written for Fourever: A RotBD Zine!

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Murals of Winter

* * *

His hair is as white as snow, his eyes a glittering blue that resembles a frozen, icy lake. He has the hood of a thin sweater thrown over his head and a curved staff in his hands as he travels from rooftop to rooftop. A gush of the northern wind helps to loyally push him along and he soars through the skies like he's made for it, like he belongs with the swirl of gleaming crystals in the air.

The days are getting shorter and the weather is getting colder and Jack Frost has lots to do. He makes snowflakes gently flutter down from the sky for the first snowfall of the year, a soft sheet of white covering the ground, and it's almost as if he's brought the clouds down for a visit. Frost lingers on tree branches and icicles dangle like windchimes from ledges and the world comes alive with every wave of Jack's hands in preparation for the frigid months.

Winter is coming. It's a busy season for Jack and he likes to spend time doing his work from above, resting on tall buildings or simply floating midair. Occasionally, he will look down to admire the result of a perfectly crafted snowman or the curve of a smooth slope fit for sledding. Occasionally, he will look down and—rarely—he will see someone looking back up at him.

Not through him, but _at_ him.

It's on a chilly afternoon, one of the earliest days of winter, that Jack locks eyes for the first time with Rapunzel.

Rapunzel: a believer.

.

The tower is all she's ever known.

She exists solely within this building, everything beyond the tower completely foreign to her. As she gazes outside, elbows propped up on the windowsill, Rapunzel takes in the sight of the setting sun, a myriad of colours shifting across the sky as dusk flutters down like a blanket overhead.

The horizon is the farthest point she can see, but the world doesn't just end there. It goes on for miles, forests and oceans spanning long distances in all directions, wildlife hidden in every corner of the world. A gentle breeze blows by, threading through her golden hair, and Rapunzel wonders just how far the wind will travel, where it came from and where it'll end up and whether she'll ever be able to go to any of those places herself.

With a sigh that sounds halfway hopeful and halfway remorseful, she watches the stars above blink on and off in Morse code, a secret message for the unfulfilled. They hang in the sky like lanterns fueled by the magic of dreams, constellations that carve a road to a better life.

Locked behind the stone walls of her tower, Rapunzel often finds herself by the window, looking at a world that isn't hers to experience.

She wonders how different the moon and stars would look like from the outdoors.

.

It's nighttime and a single window is open in the kingdom of Corona. A girl with long blonde hair pokes her head outside and breathes in, eyes closed to take in the fresh air. And when she opens her mouth, she does what she does every night, what Jack watches her do every night:

She sings.

And Jack listens, with his ears and body and _soul_.

The girl's voice holds the ghosts of winter's deepest secrets, crystalized words spiraling into the air as pirouetting snowflakes, and it makes Jack wonder. He wonders, sitting on the balcony of her tower just out of sight and looking up at the stars, who his believer is singing to. He wonders and prays and hopes and _begs_ for a voice like that because then, maybe, his questions will finally reach the Man on the Moon.

Eventually, the singing stops, as all things do. The last window in Corona closes and curtains are drawn. Spring is approaching. When the girl wakes up to the warm rays of sunlight and the start of a new season, there is an outline of a fading image on the side of the glass, made with careful precision, entirely of ice.

It reads: _I hope to hear you sing again next year._

It means: _thank you._

.

Even isolated in her tower, Rapunzel constantly hears whispers of a boy.

He is said to hold the depth of glaciers in his eyes. His laugh invites snowflakes down from the heavens for a dance. His touch, light as the wind, brings life to frozen sculptures both elegant and grand.

These whispers seem to reach her on her loneliest days, carried into her room by the wind. She doesn't know where they come from or if the voices are even speaking to her, but they still manage to catch her interest nonetheless.

They sound too mystical to be true, like a story out of a fantasy novel—unreal and imaginary. But she, like anyone else, has grown up listening to fairy tales. She's heard about boys who have managed to tame fearsome dragons and girls who shoot arrows to protect those she loves, fingers resting at home on the curve of a bow. A part of her knows that all this defies reality, but a bigger part of her still wants to _believe._ This is the part that her mother would call childish, but this is also the part she cherishes most because in the end, hope is all she has.

After all, she is a girl locked in a tower with hair more than twice the length of her room. Why wouldn't there be a boy who wears winter on his sleeves and stirs up snowstorms in her heart?

So, she paints. She covers her walls with murals of blue and white and longing and hope. The way he had looked that one afternoon when they had locked eyes, ethereal in a way that can't be described with words, is captured and saved in long brush strokes all over her room.

The next time she hears whispers of a boy that embodies winter, she knows them to be true and real, just as her paintings are.

.

Somewhere on the other side of the world, a flurry of hail brews into a vicious storm.

Inches and inches of thick, heavy snow drops down on buildings and roads and unsuspecting citizens. It lasts for hours, days, weeks, alternating between biting winds and deadly blizzards, trapping people underground and collapsing fragile structures. The storm is harsh and cold and unforgiving and—it kills.

At the center of it all: Jack Frost.

Winter spirit.

There will be no romanizations for this catastrophe. No winter wonderlands. The limited sunlight will do little to help the situation and people will be shovelling snow in desperate attempts to rescue loved ones until their fingertips are numb and frostbite nips at their noses. Cars will be stuck in driveways, waiting for the snow to be cleared, waiting for days.

Jack takes a final look at the remnants of his creations and leaves behind a scene of destruction and anguish hidden beneath the shadows of his footsteps.

.

In the hands of children, Rapunzel watches as the snow in Corona grows wings. There are groups of kids that run by her tower from time to time, throwing snowballs back and forth with sounds of laughter filling the air. Some of them barely have enough clothing on to brave the low temperatures but the cold seems to be forgotten between forming elaborate teams, building forts, and firing handfuls of white powder at each other.

Rapunzel smiles at the sight, elbows propped up on her balcony railing. It feels almost calming to observe what's happening below her; there's just something familiar in the way children spread their laughter because happiness is the same no matter the age, no matter the person.

Amongst the kids, there is a boy, too old to be in elementary school like the others but still young enough in his heart to join in on the best parts of winter. He acts like a guide in this game, arching his arms to help snowballs glide in the air and clearing out the debris to make sure no one gets hurt. None of the other kids seem to notice him, and yet, they all orbit around him without even realizing it.

Intrigued, Rapunzel can't help but stare at the boy who stands barefoot in the snow like he's made the cold his element, like he truly _belongs_ there. She finds him to be curious. Strange. Nothing she's seen before.

But—she knows him. She _knows _him, from the whispers she's heard carried into her room by the wind, deep within her bones. Just the mere sight of him—white hair and crystal eyes and snowflakes dancing on the tips of his fingers—resonates so strongly with her that she has to resist the urge to jump down twenty meters along the length of her tower just to get a better look at him.

As if he can feel her gaze, the boy looks up at her and they lock eyes just like they did the very first time, long ago. He gives her a wink from underneath his hood, his mouth moving to say something that she doesn't quite catch.

And then, he jumps.

.

_Find your core_, Nicholas North, Santa Clause, told him a long time ago, _find your core and you will find yourself._

Once upon a time, Jack did find it: joy.

But nobody told him that once he found it, he'd have to grab onto it, hold it tight so that it wouldn't escape. So that he wouldn't lose it again.

In the last two hundred and thirty-five centuries, there is not a single moment in which he remembers being truly happy.

—until now.

.

The boy lands soundlessly on her balcony, bare feet hitting the floor as tendrils of ice spiral out from his toes. He crosses a leg over the other, one hand reaching to pull down his hood while the other hand rests comfortably around his wooden staff.

"Who… are you?" Rapunzel asks in wonder. She knows she should be more cautious but the boy she's painted on her walls is now in front of her and she can only step toward him, captivated.

"I have many names," the winter spirit says, amusement in his tone. It's been far too long since he last interacted with someone, since someone was willing to talk to him at all. "You probably know me best as Jack Frost."

Rapunzel nods, eyes wide, slowly making sense of his words. She's heard the stories, of course, and deep down she thinks that she's always known him—_believed _in him—but to see him now, just outside of her own bedroom as if the images on her walls have come to life, is still surreal. A dream, perhaps.

"Were you the one who left the message on my window?" She has to know. "The one who listened to me sing?"

The corners of Jack's lips lift up into a smile. He raises a hand and draws lines in the air, fingertips glistening with sparks of ice at his command to form letters, and creates magic for Rapunzel to see. For Rapunzel to believe.

The message this time reads: _thank you_.

It means: _thank you._

And the words fade almost immediately, shimmering away into the air, but Rapunzel's mouth hangs open as if she's just uncovered the universe's greatest secret. After the initial moment of shock, she's moving on her feet again, running to the other side of the room to grab a bucket of paint and some brushes, telling him, "Wait, just—stay there and don't move."

She can feel Jack's curious gaze following her with each stroke she makes but she maintains her focus on turning the boy who landed on her balcony into art inside her tower. The swirl of winter is captured all along the length of the walls, Jack's white hair blowing in the wind and his signature half-smile dancing on his lips. Rapunzel's hand moves quickly to add falling snowflakes around the scene and the faint glow of the moon hanging in the sky.

When she's done, she steps back to observe the finished product. Distinctly, she thinks that this might be her best work yet.

"That's—" Jack starts to say but realizes that he doesn't know how to express his thoughts on the image before him. The way he appears here, the way he looks through Rapunzel's eyes, is something he's never seen in himself before.

Rapunzel smiles shyly, hands holding the paintbrush behind her back as she gives him time to take in the picture. "It's you."

His eyes linger on the paintings a while longer before he steps toward it and traces the outline of a few snowflakes with his finger, leaving behind a trail of ice. When he's done, he lifts his hand and the drawings he made peel off the wall, coming to life as real, falling snowflakes. They flutter down and melt away as they hit the ground.

Crossing her arms in front of her chest, Rapunzel stares at the spot one of the snowflakes had been just a second ago. "Are you trying to outdo me, Jack?" She asks, but can't hide the amazement in her voice.

"Nope," Jack gives her a half-smile. "Just felt inspired by your work."

Dropping the act now, she looks at him excitedly. "Can you do it again?"

So Jack makes it snow in Rapunzel's bedroom and Rapunzel hums a soft tune that puts Jack's magic to shame and together they cause havoc in her tower. But winter isn't the gentle blossoms of spring or the healthy rays of sunlight in summer or the crisp, colourful changes of fall. Winter is reckless and playful and tranquil. Winter is Jack's hand clasped around Rapunzel's when he insists on painting her onto the walls next to his own image because she deserves to be part of something beautiful, too. Winter is _believing._

Rapunzel looks around the room and here, in the fairy tale that is winter, is where she finds what she's been missing out on all these past years:

White hair, blue eyes, secret messages written on her windows, and a touch that makes snowflakes fall.

.

The next time they see each other, Rapunzel is sitting on a stool facing a mirror in her room. She looks at her reflection and can't help but smile. Jack stands behind her, using a comb to pull her hair back, and there's something about the way his fingers tenderly weave through as he braids it that makes her heart flutter inside her chest.

Jack's hands are gentle and soothing. He overlaps layers upon layers of her golden hair until what once was sprawled out all around her room now only reaches her ankles. Waving a hand above her head, he sprinkles ice flowers down the length of the braids, a finishing touch marked by the winter spirit.

When he's done, Jack leans in to kiss the back of her head before admiring his work in the mirror. "Pretty good for my first time, isn't it?"

Rapunzel can hardly believe how well the braids turned out. "It's _beautiful_."

_You're the beautiful one,_ Jack thinks but doesn't say aloud. Instead, he sends her a playful wink and walks over to pick up his staff that is propped up against the wall. "My parting gift to you."

She shifts in his direction, frowning, and asks, "Do you really have to go?" Her hand reaches out toward him instinctively as he gets up.

Jack pauses and turns to face her, smiling sadly. He thinks of fleeting moments and locked eyes and the soft melody of her voice, captivating enough to make snowflakes dance on dark, winter nights; thinks of snowball fights and snowstorms and his center, his essence, his core. He looks at Rapunzel and thinks of _joy_.

He wants to tell her _yes, I have to go, but it's not because I want to, _wants to tell her _it's just that I have a job to do,_ wants to tell her _I'm sorry I always end up leaving_ and hug her for being the only one out of nine billion people who still believes in the spirit of Jack Frost.

Instead, his eyes light up with an idea and he stretches an arm out toward her. "Want to come with me?"

The world stills for a moment before Rapunzel jumps up to take his hand immediately. Behind her, the murals on her wall seem to glow as if the tower itself is acknowledging her departure and sending her off.

"Yes!"

.

Jack leads her over to the balcony where he steps into open air and stays afloat even though there's no platform beneath his feet. He's gesturing at her to do the same but she hesitates, shaking hands holding onto the railing, uncertainty in her eyes because Jack may be the embodiment of winter, a spirit, but she—isn't. She's only human and humans can't fly.

"Don't worry," Jack says. "I won't let you fall."

Rapunzel looks down and gulps nervously when she sees just how high up she is from the ground. "Um, do you happen to have a parachute?" She asks meekly, glancing back to the comforts of her room. Suddenly going outside doesn't seem all that appealing anymore. "Or maybe I could follow you from the ground instead."

"_Trust_ me." Jack reaches for her hand and this time, when their fingers touch, she feels her entire body become light, as if her weight is escaping into the atmosphere. With a gasp, she allows Jack to guide her forward to the edge of the balcony, forward until she feels the wind between her toes and the clouds at her fingertips when she raises a hand up high.

Humans are not made to fly, but here she is, airborne among the clouds—_flying._

Squealing with delight, Rapunzel kicks her feet out now that there's no platform beneath her. "This is amazing!"

Jack grins, a playful tone in his voice when he asks, "Want to go faster?"

She nods and Jack calls upon the winds to push them through the clouds, breaking apart air particles as they emerge on the other side. They're navigating through altitudes Rapunzel never thought she'd reach and then they're dropping suddenly, headfirst toward the ground at alarming speeds. Letting out a scream, she clings to the winter spirit tighter as they plummet down, down, down.

With his free hand, Jack waves his staff out in front of them before giving her a wink. "Watch," he says. As soon as the word leaves his mouth, crystallized snowflakes in the shape of lanterns materialize all around them and Rapunzel forgets that they're falling for a moment to take in the sight.

Jack pulls them forward just as they approach ground level so that they're flying parallel to the floor. They weave through buildings, circling around the city of Corona as if they were the wind itself, the winter spirit guiding them through unknown alleyways with ease.

Finally, they land on the rooftop of a nearby building, gravity returning to Rapunzel's body once she steadies herself on the solid surface.

"That was so much fun!" Rapunzel laughs, throwing her arms around Jack's shoulders, smile never fading. She says, "Thank you."

And means: _I love you._

There's a pause as the world stills around them. Then, before she even realizes what is happening, Jack pulls her closer to him as he leans down to capture her lips. Instinctively, Rapunzel's eyelids flutter shut, and through the pounding in her chest, she does the only thing she can think of at the moment—she kisses him back.

All of a sudden, she is weightless again despite being firmly attached to the platform beneath her feet this time. But the sensation she's feeling with Jack's lips pressed against her own is exactly the same as what she felt earlier when they were flying: a mixture of pure joy and exhilaration and magic.

When they break apart, Rapunzel's face is flushed. Jack laughs lightly at her expression of surprise but it's a shy reaction, almost like he isn't sure if what he did was okay. The way his gaze flickers around, too embarrassed to meet her eyes, is just so _cute_ that she takes it upon herself to chase away any doubts he might have.

And so, she pulls him in again. _I want this_, she tries to tell him, tries to make him understand. Rapunzel kisses like how she sings: soft and hopeful and full of passion with stardust between her teeth.

She's almost a little dizzy when they step back this time, but the smile on Jack's face lets her know that he's feeling the same. Looking at him now, white hair glowing under the light of the setting sun and shadows dancing across his face, her fingers itch to paint this image of him so that it's eternal.

Instead, she takes his hand and they sit down on the rooftop, feet dangling off the edge. They lean against each other, shoulders touching, and watch as the last rays of sunlight disappear beyond the horizon. It doesn't take long before nighttime settles around them, a deep rich indigo colour spreading out above their heads as speckles of light appear soon after.

And she's always known it intrinsically somehow, accepted the knowledge as just something that's part of the universe, but as she sits here under the darkened sky with Jack's hand clasped around hers, Rapunzel thinks that the stars look the prettiest from the outdoors, after all.


End file.
